Boring and Simple
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2001-10-29 08:09:11 (UTC)

Oct. 29, 2001 (Monday, A.M.)

I don't know why I'm doing this. I guess it's safer than
luggin' around a journal with me every where I go. I'm
just me, writing, just for the hell of it I guess.
It's a little past 2:30 in the mornin' where I am. I wish
I could sleep. I'm tired, yet I don't have any of my
homework or other stuff done. I worked all weekend, yet
mentally, my weekend was bad. Work dominated everything I
had done since Friday afternoon. I'm just a simple cook at
Pizza Hut, which isn't much to say when it's the most
productive thing about me. I've been working there since
the end of July, and it was my first job (I'm currently
16). They say I do good work, and the head manager is even
championing for me to get a big raise. I doubt that'll
happen anytime soon, since Pizza Hut management is a Nazi
when it comes to many. But I'll just be luggin' on, making
pizza. I do more work there then some of the older drivers
put together, which is sad for them considering I'm 16 and
have only been working there for 4 months.
One thing I despise about myself (there's a sh/tload of
stuff I despise about myself) is that I haven't really been
practicing my electric guitar. I bought it 3 months ago,
my hopes held high. Yet my daughter lies untended in the
corner. I want so BADLY to be able to play it, yet when I
pick it up, nothing happens. I wish I knew stuff about
guitars and music, yet nothing happens. It's been a
mistake in my life, yet if I had the chance, I wouldn't
give my guitar back. I wouldn't even consider it. It's
just a love-hate relationship when it comes to my guitar
and me. Maybe I'll be able to pick her up one day and
simply--- play. Maybe...... some day.....
I have so much sh/t I have to get done for school. First,
I have to write a short story for a contest my teacher is
making us do. I like writing, yet I don't know what I'm
going to do for the story. THere's probably a week left
before I have to hand it in, yet I don't even have a rough
draft. The max. number of words for it is 2000, and the
subject has been left completely open. My writing and I
almost has the same relationship as my guitar and I, I
simply am not able to up and start writing. One of the
hopes I have with beginning this journal is that it'll help
me out of this 'mental block,' yet all it seems is that all
I have is wistful hope.
For the same teacher, I have to revise a poem. Poetry I'm
a little better at, and since my poem is a load of crock
anyway, I'm probably not going to lose any sleep over it.
For my social studies class, there's an essay in which
doing it will gain me a sh/tload of extra credit points.
It's another contest, and I despise essays. Essays seem to
be my antagonist. I despise essays. I despise essays. I
despise essays. I despise essays of any kind. There's
simply no freedom to any of 'em, and it's just too
different from creative writing. But I have to do one
nonetheless, because I need those points, and I need them
BADLY. I've also got another essay to do which is due by
the end of the week for my English teacher. It's on a
novel we just finished reading, and it's a character
analysis. I despise it. I revile it. I wish it would
burn in hell. I'm screwed.
I used to be good in school. I'm in high school, and I'm
guessing I've been on a free ride up until the grade I'm in
now. My average for last year was in the 97's; this
quarter period, I'll be surprised if I'm on the honor
role. I'll probably never make it in this world. I'll
probably never make it to college. I'm in a bunch of extra-
curricular activities, which might boost my status a mite.
But probably not enough.
I despise myself. I was an accident. I was never intended
to be born, and sometimes that's how life treats me. My
birth-father was one of those 'hit-and-run' kind of guys,
so when I was born, he was already gone, and probably
doesn't even know I exist. I was born illegitimate into
the lower class. What a destiny I have. My station in
life has been a struggle, but of which never seems of
avail. I've worked 2 jobs for 4 months, yet all I have in
my bank is 500 dollars to my name. I admit, my first two
paychecks went to school clothes and school supplies (new
grade, new beginning). I spent 200 on a guitar, and
probably another 100 on misc. stuff throughout the last
couple of months. Yet the reason I only have 500 in the
bank is because I gave money to my mother to pay the gas
bill. She hadn't payed the gas bill for the past 7 months,
meaning: no heat, no hot water, no dryer, no stove, no
oven, repeat: NO HOT WATER, which is quite a b/tch. I
finally broke down and gave her the money for the bill
(even though she'd been spending money on trips to NYC and
Conn. and probably would be able to pay the bill if she had
an OUNCE of the concept of PRIORITY), yet even with my
money, which accounted for HALF THE FRIGGIN' MONEY I HAD
SAVED FOR COLLEGE, she still did NOT pay the bill, saying
that she believed the whole concept of the damn thing was
wrong, and that some time in the future we're moving
somewhere new. It's friggin' cold, which sucks when you've
got to take showers cold. SHe hasn't even given my money
My station in life will probably never get better.